Catching Scatters
they float in order through the chaotic mind
they float chaotic through the ordered mind
—both the above are likely true.
I live among these floating scatters
—scents, images, sensations, sounds,
mementoes meandering to dreams,
a voice, a touch, the laughter of a child,
a melody, piano tones, their resonance,
the call of friends--come out and play!
the breath of wind, a sea-wave’s hush or hum,
a word, a glance, the steps of dancing feet,
or star blinks mirrored in a lake at night
—these are my madeleines,
scatters floating, courting capture,
poem zy-ghosts waiting to take form.
Proust made four thousand pages out of his,
I thrill to nab and land one on a page,
my laptop screen to be exact
—an entry into verbal chaos visible,
where I can work and weave my captive
into mirrors echoes colors or conceits
till there it is, an entity I sense complete
but can’t yet name. A poem? Maybe. Yes!
—if it has opened a moment ephemeral
and held up to light the enigma within.
Marina Romani, now retired from a couple of careers and as many marriages, lives in Monterey, California, where taking oceanside walks and writing poems are among her greatest pleasures. Her work has appeared in Homestead Review, Porter Gulch Review, Monterey Poetry Review, Tor House Newsletter, and Poetry Pacific. Marina’s first book, Child Interwoven (Park Place Publications), a collection of memories in poem and prose of her childhood in 1940s Shanghai, has just been published.
they float in order through the chaotic mind
they float chaotic through the ordered mind
—both the above are likely true.
I live among these floating scatters
—scents, images, sensations, sounds,
mementoes meandering to dreams,
a voice, a touch, the laughter of a child,
a melody, piano tones, their resonance,
the call of friends--come out and play!
the breath of wind, a sea-wave’s hush or hum,
a word, a glance, the steps of dancing feet,
or star blinks mirrored in a lake at night
—these are my madeleines,
scatters floating, courting capture,
poem zy-ghosts waiting to take form.
Proust made four thousand pages out of his,
I thrill to nab and land one on a page,
my laptop screen to be exact
—an entry into verbal chaos visible,
where I can work and weave my captive
into mirrors echoes colors or conceits
till there it is, an entity I sense complete
but can’t yet name. A poem? Maybe. Yes!
—if it has opened a moment ephemeral
and held up to light the enigma within.
Marina Romani, now retired from a couple of careers and as many marriages, lives in Monterey, California, where taking oceanside walks and writing poems are among her greatest pleasures. Her work has appeared in Homestead Review, Porter Gulch Review, Monterey Poetry Review, Tor House Newsletter, and Poetry Pacific. Marina’s first book, Child Interwoven (Park Place Publications), a collection of memories in poem and prose of her childhood in 1940s Shanghai, has just been published.
